Healing
by Miss M Cricket
Summary: The air is thick, the muted sound of thunder rolling through the desert, along with the dry sound of wind rushing over the dirt and scrubby brush land... John and Sam Grimm - General


Title: Healing  
Author:**miss_m_cricket** on LJ  
Fandom: Doom (movie)  
Characters: John Grimm, Samantha Grimm (General)  
Rating: PG-13 for John swearing  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

Summary: _The air is thick, the muted sound of thunder rolling through the desert, along with the dry sound of wind rushing over the dirt and scrubby brush land..._

A/N: Not sure how good I am at writing just general plotting with no romance. Hmmm. Ah well I hope you all enjoy.

**Healing**He woke up gasping for breath.

It took him a minute to remember where he is, not on Olduvai, not in the facility on earth and not even in the RRTS barracks. He is in his sister's comfortable little house, heat and residual fear making his skin sweat.

Swinging himself out of the spare bedroom's creaky old single bed he stood and padded his way out into the dimly lit living area and then out onto the small wooden porch that wraps around the entire front of the small house.

The air is thick, the muted sound of thunder rolling through the desert, along with the dry sound of wind rushing over the dirt and scrubby brush land.

His sister was already outside, fair hair loose around a face that is still much too pale for John's liking. Her loose sleepwear drapes off a frame that has lost a bit too much weight and the medic in him starts mentally supplying ideas for bolstering up her body mass again. She may be older than him, by ten minutes, but he feels like she is his responsibility. He is the protector and she is the most important person in his life right now.

"You alright?" he asked gruffly, sitting himself down beside her on the couch, resting his hands on his thighs as he gazed out at the space before them. The road winds its way towards the town, unseen over some nearby hills, nearby is just scrub and space. It's beautiful really, the barrenness of it, the wildness of it. Especially with the storm rolling over their heads.

"I'm fine." She responded, shifting over to give him a little more room beside her, "Just had trouble sleepin' is all."

"Yeah." He sighed, leaning back and resting his dark head back against the old wood. "Me too."

They sat in silence for another few moments, not really feeling the need to speak. This was always how it had been for them, not really very good at verbalising their feelings.

It was strange really that this last disaster on Olduvai had brought them together once more, since the first one, the death of their parents, had driven them so far apart. There was so much anger, so much history of hurt between them, but for now while they healed they could put it aside. Once they were well again, maybe then they would sort out their past, but for now, both of them knew, they needed each other.

"Tell me 'bout them John." She said softly. She pretended not to notice the sudden stillness of him, the freezing of his muscles, and the tenseness in his jaw. "Please,"

It was the please that did it, how could he refuse her when she said please like that. It would be petty and he wasn't a petty man.

So he told her. He started off with Goat, how the man had collected scalps off every man he had killed, kept them as a collection. Told her about his dry sense of humour, told her about how after the mission in the rainforest, just a few bare weeks before Olduvai, he had turned so passionately religious. "Somethin' about killin' people of a similar cultural background to him changed him." John told her. He hadn't known Goat as well as he had known some of the others. He regretted that now.

Katsuhiko Kumanosuke Takahashi, "what a bloody mouthful," he said chuckling, "S'why we called him Mac. Was just easier than having to remember the rest of it." He told her about Mac's family, how he would tell them about the girl they wanted him to marry, a sweet uncomplicated girl, who looked at him as though he was all the hope in her life. He told her that Mac was the only one of them who had given Portman a chance at friendship. How he had left University to join RRTS, about his brilliance with technology. "A good man." He sighed.

He moved on then to Portman, and couldn't help his lip curling. "Twisted fuck." He muttered, and then tried to think of something nice to remember about him. He told her about how when Mac had invited him out that night to the saki bar, how his eyes had lit up. How after that he had been passionately loyal to the Asian technician. He told her of how Portman had run after him in the rainforest, yelling for him to get down, to stop, to fucking think. "I didn't." He admitted. "Maybe we should have been a bit more tolerant of him."

"Destroyer." His throat closed up with grief, he had been there with Reaper since early on in their days as marines. Him, Reaper, Duke and Sarge had been the original members of RRTS 6 Special Ops, along with four other men dead before Olduvai. He told her about being in the desert about them driving in their truck when they were blasted from the road. Told her about being thrown clear with Duke and crawling up a dune to see Destroyer gunning down their attackers, standing over the bleeding Sarge. "Deserved better than to die in that hellhole." He muttered gruffly, "But then, he would have seen it as a warriors ending."

Dantalian, "The Kid." He murmured, "Just a goddamned kid." Slowly he wrapped his arm around his sister's shoulders. Slowly he told her about the island where he had met the kid. About how all the other navy bastards had run when they were attacked, but how Dantalian had stayed, fighting with the five of them, Goat, Duke, Destroyer, Mac and him. How he had asked them to help him become like them. How he and Destroyer had recommended him to Sarge. How he had been let into the squad just a day or two before Olduvai. "Had a girl back home." He murmured sadly, "Millie. He loved her, was goin' to propose. Fucking waste!" his voice cracked. He had liked the kid.

When he had got his voice under control once more he spoke of Sarge. Of the man who had been a good leader, a good friend, a good man. He told her of how Sarge had hauled the then young Reaper out of a bar fight telling him that he would be more use to everyone as a Marine then dead in an alley somewhere. "Could talk to him 'bout Mom, n'Dad." He muttered, "He was concerned for me goin' to Olduvai. Said I could take the leave an' not go. Knew you were up there though." Sarge and Duke they had been the closest things to friends that he had ever had.

Silence reigned for a few minutes before he said, "Now Duke, if there were two things in this world that he loved, it would be games, and girls." He heard his sister chuckle and smiled a little. He told her of the old school games that Duke had brought home and showed off with such pride, how he had told them all that he didn't like women with brains attached. But Duke had liked Sam, his sassy and brilliant sister. And she had liked him. Duke had kept Sam safe, when he couldn't be there. Duke had been his closest friend in RRTS. Out of all of them, Duke was the one he grieved for the most. And he knew his sister felt the same.

The storm brewed overhead, the wind sweeping over the scrubby land before it and around the two people sitting on the small porch. It lifted the pale blonde hair of the woman which rested comfortably on the man's shoulder. And it brushed over the man's hand which was curled protectively around the woman's shoulder.

Sam Grimm slept, her head rested trustingly on his shoulder eyes closed, chest rising and falling evenly. John however stayed awake, dark eyes watching the storm that rumbled in the sky but did not break. He thought about the eighth marine, Reaper, who had also died in that facility back home on Earth. He couldn't go back to being Reaper the marine, not after that, not now that he had his sister back in his life. Maybe he would go on to university.

But for now he was content just to be John Grimm, brother to Sam, and alive.


End file.
